About Isaac French

Childhood

I haven’t changed a lot. I am still perky. In case you are confused, I am the one on the right, my brothers being the other boys sitting on the canon. They are the ones without an ice cream. I believe it was my birthday.

I was born just after World War II. If you peer hard enough, you can just make out the warships in the background of the photograph. My father was a shipwright in Devonport Dockyard.

My parents were bombed out five times during the war and eventually moved across the water to Cornwall. I was born in Cornwall, the youngest of three boys. Our childhoods were full of love and caring and church and God.

As soon as they were able, my parents moved back to Devonport and hence, my early years were spent playing in bombed ruins, making fires, kicking a ball, and generally living a free and scavenging life.

On Sundays all changed. My brothers and I sang in the choir and

Kerr Street Primary School was not a centre of learning and in no way prepared one for academia. I remember the Luscombe twins coming into school without shoes and Mr Parsons and I searching the PE cupboard for plimsolls. We never saw the plimsolls again.

I remember Miss Lyons going to the cupboard for a sip of something reviving. I remember Miss Clark stroking my bottom, as I stood beside her, when we were rehearsing a song for morning assembly. I was in love with Miss Clark. I instinctively knew not to say anything about these matters to my parents or the vicar or other authority figures. It was a wonderful childhood.

Adulthood

A rather flattering photo, I’m afraid. I must have destroyed the others. I managed to survive two years as a teacher but I knew it wasn’t for me. I used my educational qualifications to lever my way into the NHS and, thanks to many re-organisations – the NHS is always being reorganised – ended being in charge of hospitals.

In my last working years, I became an expert in illicit drugs and a special adviser to governments and voluntary organisations on running drug services. I am not sure how this happened. Still, I felt very privileged.

I hope I did some good.

Retirement

Retirement was a wonderful gift. I was healthy, reasonably well-off, and with the freedom to choose what I wanted to do. I tried five different activities. Sculpture – I struggled to find the right medium and to remain motivated; mathematics – I loved maths but realised that creative mathematics is a young persons’ game; saxophone my lips were not powerful enough for me to form the right embouchure, so said my tutor, bloody cheek; writing – I started writing in Bath Library. I love the process of writing and I love writing in libraries. Bath Library, Bristol Library and the most recent, Morrab Library in Penzance. I can write at home but it is a struggle. I like to go out to write (work) and go to a café for lunch.

I know I said five activities but, for the life of me, I cannot remember the fifth. Ah well.